All these things I will give thee...

Mildly Reactive

All these things I will give thee...

“This one job and I’ll tear it up. You’ll be free.” With a vicious predator smile he vanished into the bone deep cold.

I opened the box he’d left, fingers automatically remembering actions despite my mind’s turmoil. I had trained for this.

The location was perfect; High, open, great field of vision.

I could see right into bright festive homes. Countless children willing sleep to overcome excitement.

Take this drowning man’s chance or suffer my terrible bargains’ consequences? I knew I couldn’t decide until the moment came.

I steadied the rifle and waited for the sleigh to enter the crosshairs.

100 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for Stevie McCoy's Tuesday Tales 70

Lyin' Eyes

Lyin’ Eyes

“Darling, don’t be tiresome. I warned you I had a frenetic schedule. The viewing could go late. Don’t wait up. Ciao!”

She’d teetered out on vertiginous stilettos, in a red skirt more suitable as a belt.

Her vindictive little barbs drew blood even after all this time.

By now, I knew, she would be simpering at her prospective victim, standing just slightly too close. At some point she would stumble, grab a steadying arm and, with doe eyes, whisper a breathy remark about how strong he was.

Maintaining the hold into the boudoir, as she would suggestively call it, she might even need closer attention if she cut herself on that otherwise invisible thumbtack. She may even suggest a steadying drink. She would find a way. An inveterate flirt, she had a vast repertoire at her disposal.

I knew all her tricks; after all, I married her.

150 Words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for Jeffrey Hollar’s Monday Mixer 8

Sliding Doors

 

Robert Doisneau

Sliding Doors

“No!!!”

The hand grasped the case, the door snapped shut.

Hyena faces, distorted by dirty glass, cackled as they tore at Grandfather’s defenceless cello, their fresh kill.

I started after the departing train.

Snap!

Sprawling on the dirty platform, betrayed by a bargain basement heel, I lay there, cheap mascara dissolving into zebra face stripes.

Anonymous shoes swirled past me and swept on to their homes and offices, leaving me fumbling for a crumpled return ticket.

***

I rested for a happy moment. Today was the day! A philharmonic audition, an heirloom to play on; what could possibly go wrong?

100 Words

@nickjohns999 

This story was written for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare- Timing

Blood Feud

 

© Douglas M MacIlroy

Blood Feud

“Wassup Dude?”

“I’m sequencing.”

“Cool! Love bangin’ tunes Man.”

“No. Sequencing genes.”

“Jean’s what? Never had you pegged for a ladies’ man Bro.”

“Funny! It’s reclaimed genetic material; I’m transferring it into this.”

“That ball?...”

“...Artificial womb... Egg...”

“...Whatever. Where d’you get the genetic stuff?” 

“From dried blood. I propagated it.”

“Like Jurassic Park? Blood from amber?”

“No. From this chainmail.”

“Wow! D’you boost it?”

“Nope. Family heirloom. Ancestor died in battle. See? Ripped apart.”

“Eugh! You want to Frankenstein your Granddad?”

“Hell no!”

“What you doin’ then?”

“I’m reviving our family profession in his honour.”

“What’d he do?”

“Dragonslayer.”

100 Words

@nickjohns999 

This story was written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers Challenge